


4 AM, the Brooklyn Bridge

by Wonderlandleighleigh



Series: The Tuna Melt-verse [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Allusions to Sexual Assault, Gen, Peter Parker makes art and everybody forgets about it, art as therapy, but no graphic description or explicit content within, coping skills, photographer peter parker is best peter parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 06:11:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderlandleighleigh/pseuds/Wonderlandleighleigh
Summary: Three years before getting a job with the Washington Post, and meeting Jason Todd in DC, some very bad things happened to Maggie Rogers. her uncle Peter, the Amazing Spider-Man, does what he can to help. Dad jokes included.





	4 AM, the Brooklyn Bridge

Of all the things he thought he’d be doing, letting Captain America vent to him isn’t really one of them. 

But life is strange, and so is Peter Parker, so he just goes with it. 

And to be quite honest, things have been downright horrific lately. He feels partially responsible. Like the other Avengers, he wasn’t there when the kids needed him. He’s know them for so long. Known Maggie and Annie since they were little kids. Was around when Joey and Maria and Stella and T’Chaka were born. 

He’s their uncle. Best Babysitter Ever. 

He shoulda-

Peter shuts it down. Wallowing in his own guilt doesn't help the kids, and it really doesn’t help Cap.

“It almost feels easier to help Joey,” Steve admits quietly. “It’s so tangible, you know? Losing a limb...there’s physical therapy and Tony’s working on a leg...but Magpie…” 

He swallows hard.

Maggie’s seventeen, and the things that were done to her were…

Peter doesn’t like to think about it. But that doesn’t help Maggie, either. 

“She’s not sleeping,” Steve goes on. “She quit cheer squad, she dropped debate team and student council...her grades are still good, but…” 

It’s been two months since it all happened. Since that horribly cold warehouse in Jersey. Since Rumlow and his goons. Peter’s spent a bunch of time with Annie. There was one afternoon where Pepper and Tony were out with Maria and he just let Annie go to town on him. Let her punch and kick and shove and just beat the living daylights out of him until she was too tired to move anymore. 

He’s the Amazing Spider-Man and she’s a five-foot-three, seventeen-year-old waif. It’s not like he can’t take it.

And she needed to kick the shit outta something. She needed to let that aggression out. Be angry at the world, and it was clear she felt like she couldn’t around Tony and Pepper. 

Maggie’s harder to pin down. She’s more thoughtful than Annie. She looks before she leaps and she’s always so easy-going and inquisitive, and all of this...everything that’s happened, it’s probably just rolling around in her head, making her nuts. 

“I can talk to her if you want,” Peter offers. 

Steve grins sadly. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. Tony says you really helped Annie.” 

“And she really helped me,” Peter jokes. “I hadn’t had a shiner like that in ages.” 

Steve laughs quietly, but it sounds hollow and practiced. 

*****

He taps on Maggie’s window at about four in the morning, hanging upside down from his webbing. 

It opens and she peeks out, looking exhausted and pale, her blue eyes drooping. 

“Hey,” she says. It’s a dull greeting. 

“Hi,” Peter says. “Nice night for a swing, don’tcha think?” 

Maggie shrugs. “I guess. If you can do that kinda thing.” 

“I can,” Peter says. “And you can too, if you want to come hang out.” 

Maggie groans. “Pete. seriously. Hang out?” 

“My old man jokes are the best old man jokes,” Peter snaps. “You comin’ or not?” 

Maggie blinks and looks around out the window. “What the hell. It’s not like I’m sleeping.” She slips out and gives a hop to latch onto Peter’s back with her arms around his neck. 

“Hold tight, Rogers. Here we go!” 

And they swing. 

He takes the long way, swinging around Brooklyn and eventually, they wind up on top of the Brooklyn Bridge, looking at Midtown, their feet dangling. 

Peter takes his mask off and plays with it. “I talked to your dad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. He said you’re not doin’ so hot. Not sleeping or doing the stuff you like to do.” 

“Maybe I don’t like doing that stuff anymore,” Maggie snaps, crossing her arms. “Maybe I’m not the same person.” 

Peter nods, and stays quiet, but he keeps watching her. 

She’s such a good kid. Kind-hearted and fun, and she did nothing to deserve any of what happened to her. 

And maybe that’s-

“You know that none of what happened was your fault, right?” Peter asks before he can even think about the words. “What happened to you, and what happened to Annie and Joey and Maria, and Stella and T’Chaka, that’s...none of that is on you.” 

“I’m the oldest,” Maggie says just as quickly. “I shoulda-” 

“Shoulda what?” Peter asks. “You’re not- you don’t have superpowers, or a big metal suit that shoots lasers or whatever. You’re not a trained spy or a ninja warrior or a...a wizard. Maggie, you’re just a kid, and you fought as hard as you could, but nothing that happened to you is your fault.” 

Maggie looks in the other direction. 

“None of this is on you,” Peter repeats gently. “Anybody who says differently, I will literally pick up Annie and throw her at them so she can give them a black eye this time instead of me.” 

Maggie laughs briefly and then bursts into tears. 

He lets her cry. She needs it, clearly, so he pats her hair gently, and then she’s hugging him, huddled in against him, and Peter wraps his arms around her head, letting her hide and sob.

It’s a good, solid twenty minutes of crying, and Peter’s not shocked. She probably hasn’t cried at all since it happened. She’s the oldest, and to her, that means holding it together for everybody else, and Peter feels like that, more than anything else, is a punch in the gut. 

Eventually the crying subsides, and Maggie pulls away, wiping her eyes. Peter pats her shoulder gently. 

“How do you feel?” 

Maggie nods a little, sniffling. “Uhm...a-a little better.” 

“Yeah, a good, loud cry helps sometimes,” Peter nods. “I do my best crying on bridges.” 

Maggie grins a little at him and wipes her eyes more.

“You know…” Peter hesitates. “You know I know...I know this isn’t the same but...when my uncle was killed...y’know he died like...in my arms. Not that that’s any better or worse than-” 

“Just say what you’re gonna say,” Maggie cuts him off.

Peter blows out a breath. “So when Ben died, I was a mess. My whole life fell apart, and I lost interest in a lot of things I used to love. Comic books and action figures and movies and video games, they all just lost their appeal.” 

Maggie nods. “I feel that way too.” 

“I figured,” Peter says. “I had to find new outlets. Obviously the whole...Spider-Man thing was a big one, but I also discovered that I’m really good with electronics at that time in my life...that building things, making things gave me a sense of accomplishment that I needed. And I also bought my first camera around then.” 

Maggie looks at him curiously. 

“I mean, yeah, snapping photos for the Bugle pays the bills, but I love photography,” Peter tells her. “And sometimes taking photos of the people and the things I cared about...that was more rewarding than the red pajamas and the crime-fighting. It was a way to heal. When I got really good at it, like...really good, I started going to all of the places I knew my uncle loved the most, and I took photos.” He grins. “I even sold a few of them, which was neat.” 

Maggie smiles a little. 

“But mostly, making art...getting that perfect shot that’s got the perfect composition...the perfect light...that angle that’s gonna make somebody stop and take another look, and then another… filled a hole that needed filling. The point I’m trying to make, Maggie, is that there are ways to help yourself heal. It doesn’t have to be cheerleading or student government or whatever. It can be art or music or dance. It can be whatever you want it to be. Whatever you need it to be.” 

She nods slowly.

They sit in silence after that, watching as the sun starts to peak over the horizon. 

***** 

She starts writing on a fluke. 

Uncle Sam got her a diary for her birthday this year, and she just...starts writing. 

And writing.

And writing. 

And writing.

She fills up the whole damn thing in a week. 

She goes to the store, and buys a big pack of notebooks. She fills those up too.

It turns out Maggie Rogers has a lot to say.

END


End file.
